#beaten and robbed

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"Fugitive," Border Cities Star. June 8, 1933. Page 8. ---- JOHN NEYARE. Thirty-five-year-old Russian, of London, who is being hunted by police as one of the two men who beat and robbed a woman of $1,500 in her London home on Monday morning. The victim was Mrs. Alice Tichonchuk, 31, of 6 Webb street. Neyare, who formerly lived in the Border Cities, took a taxi to East Windsor, with his companion, on the afternoon of the robbery.

[aeris-blue]

Sometimes drawing quickly and crummily is good for the soul and if nothing else it frees the brain worms. Kurama should have wings. My theory is he had issues with the mortals so made himself as human as possible no there is not a fic in the work about that idea

[shatterdome-underscore]

Oh wow you guys were not exaggerating about Kabru. Flashing back to something Laios said thirty seconds before but with the happy white fuzz filter, immediately going "either I was wrong and they didnt rob us or they dont remember, either way its fine ❤️" to his party, blushing and going "this is so much worse than I imagined" while Shuro is actively trying to kill Laios, not even flinching over the "why were you eating a brick" thing? this little dude is a freak

[papasmistakeria]

lowkey we were so robbed of this fit

[strangerstilinski]

djo3 update and NO mustache i am fr going to CRY

[tariah23]

Outside of the allegations, can Tyler Perry just go to hell already bro

[heister-shmeister]

dont get me started on the slow, gradual deprogramming of russia-typical bigotry sokol has to go through

hes got toxic masculinity and internalized homophobia out the ass dont get me staaaaaarted

[kaythefloppa]

I have a lot of grievances over how Vitani's Lion Guard was executed in the finale, but I think the one thing that would've saved it [or made it less bs] is to have them all be different animals. Same characters, personalities, voice actresses (and maybe eye-color?), and you can even keep the all-female guard, just different species of animals that would've made the ending come full circle rather than having its narrative be circular.

Like, Vitani's the one-lion on the Guard who's the leader/fiercest.

Shabaha would be a caracal cat since those motherfuckers can jump high and compete with other, bigger predators for food (we were robbed oa caraca, in TLG anyways so this would've been perfect.

Tazama would be a Secratarybird since they can run fast but also have sharp vision as birds of prey.

Imara would be a South African Rock Python, her strength being her coils and jaw vice - In fact, they could've easily saved time and effort by just co-opting the rock python from Season 1, pulling the ultimate Chekov's Gun by turning a background character into a major game player in the finale (also serving as a heroic parallel to Ushari and giving us a non-villainous snake, not enough of which are shown in media)

Kasi as an African Wild Dog (known for their stamina unlike the cheetah, and again, don't get enough appearances in animated animal-based media sans Wild Kratts)

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"Neighbors Are Hunted," Border Cities Star. June 5, 1933. Page 1 & 9. ---- Accused of Attacking London Woman And Taking $1,500 --- Condition Serious --- Mrs. Tichonchuk Tells Story of Assault And Robbery --- By Staff Reporter LONDON, Ont., June 5 - Mrs. Alex Tichonchuk, 31, of 6 Webb street, lies in Victoria Hospital in a temporarily serious condition, while detectives were carrying on an intensive hunt this afternoon for two neighbors who are alleged to have attacked her in her home this morning, and robbed the Polish woman of $1,500 in cash.

SUSPECTS SOUGHT THE suspects the police are seeking are John Neyare, 35, boarder at 5 Webb street, across the road from the victim's home, and Joseph Kozuboski, about 33 years of age, and believed to be a resident of Inkerman street.

The robbery occurred about 10 o'clock this morning, when Mrs. Tichonchuk was alone in the house. Her husband was at work in a downtown factory, and their only child Alex, Jr., 7 years old, was attending Aberdeen school.

According to the story told police, the two suspects paid a friendly call to the Tichonchuk residence. They had been in the house a few minutes when the housewife was called to the door to get a registered postal letter. When Mrs. Tichonchuk returned to the living room she found one of the men in a bedroom. Asking what he wanted, she received a non-committal reply. The other man was in the living room. Mrs. Tichonchuk then walked into the bedroom and the visitor threw a bag over her head, and calling his companion to help him, the woman was carried upstairs to a small attic and threatened with death unless she revealed the hiding place of her husband's money. She refused to answer, and they beat her with their fists. While in the attic the men ripped boards from the floor in an effort to locate the money. Mrs. Tichonchuk was then pushed down the stairs and was thrown down the cellar stairs to the cement floor, it was charged. In the meantime, the woman's hands had been tied behind her back.

LEFT IN CELLAR Leaving the victim in the cellar, the raiders ransacked the house, pull- ing out drawers and spreading the contents on the floor, turning beds over and tearing open mattresses. The money was finally found hidden in a bedroom on the ground floor.

John Turrick, a neighbor, told detectives this afternoon he saw Neyara run out of the house and down a lane. He didn't see the other suspect leave the house.

Mrs. Tichonchuk's screams were heard by Peter Sawa, another neighbor, but he didn't go in the house as he thought the noise was a family disturbance, he related to The Star. In the meantime the victim had dragged herself to the verandah with her hands still tied and Sawa came to her rescue.

Charles Howard, 28, 565 Ottaway avenue, also heard the woman's call for help, and he helped Sawa in rendering first aid. Mrs. Tichnochuk was bleeding from mouth and head wounds, and also on the arms where the ropes had cut into the flesh.

RUSHED TO HOSPITAL The victim was rushed to VictoriaHospital where she was attended by Dr. Murray Simpson.

Detective Earl Knight was in police headquarters when the robbery was reported, and in company with Constables Clipperton and Leach, hurried to the scene in a scout car. The alarm was spread over the city, and provincial traffic police were instructed to watch all roads leading out of London.

The suspects were last seen at the intersection to Hill and William street about two blocks from the house. They called at the Matz grocery store, and asked Miss Jennie Matz, 16, to call a taxi.

Murray Haines, 22. of 605 Emery street, answered the call from the Lasalle Taxi Company, and he drove the two men out of the city. Early this afternoon Haines had not returned to London and police were endeavoring to trace the taxi. Haines was driving a Marquette sedan, sedan, carrying the license number V-1211.

The two suspects, who are Russians, came to Canada about three years ago and have lived in London about that time. They were employed with section gangs on various railroads, but had not been working in recent months.

Mr. Tichonchuk, who was also born in Russia, has lived in London six years. His wife came to this country in 1931.

"I drew the $1,500 from the bank on Saturday to pay hospital and other bills, and I also intended to make a down payment on a small farm," the husband told The Star. The money represented his savings in Canada.

DESCRIPTIONS The descriptions of the two alleged robbers, as supplied to police, are as follows: Neyare, about six feet tall, dark complexion, slim and wearing a blue suit, with a white shirt and no tie, and a grey felt hat; Kozuboski, short and stockily built, red freckled face and wearing a sand colored suit coat, grey trousers and a light brown felt hat.

Miss Matz informed The Star this afternoon that Neyare was very excited when he entered the store, and swore profusely while waiting for the taxi. Kozuboski, she said, bought a package of cigarets and gave her five cents for the phone call.

Another family resides with the Tichonchuks, Mr. and Mrs. J. Andrew, and two small children, Mary and Natalie. They were away at the time of the robbery.

[waywardsalt]

Have you ever thought about how Linebeck describes Jolene as "crazier than a rabid squid"- only to then be possessed by a literal rabid squid later in the game?

Cause I sure have- especially after seeing a lot of your BellumxLinebeck stuff

mmmmghmm im gonna be honest i haven't thought about it much at all

linking it to my bellum x linebeck thoughts, im not too sure what to make of it in context with my other linebeck notes and w/e

there's also my idea that linebeck has a special interested in shellfish and by extension squids, and the idea of him having a weird thing for bellum, and just... enjoying sealife, and it's kinda of...

he compares her to a rabid squid to link in order to i think... offer a shorthand explanation of what she's like, and i think it (with some other stuff) is kinda just another little peek into how he might feel abt her?

i mean he also compares link to a dog in that one letter? i'm not sure where im going with that one. i dont think linebeck particularly likes dogs

i'm not sure abt the link between that and him getting possessed, jolene is kind of just... there a lot of the time and doesn't really do anything except 1) show that linebeck has enemies and 2) show that people know about link's quest by the end, linebeck generally references sea creatures a few times in ph

relating to bellum x linebeck, i dont see him comparing jolene to a squid an indicator of anything in relation to that, with linebeck having a thing for bellum its more of like. there's a lot of complicated ideas i have with what goes on between them during bellumbeck and bellum being a squid thing is more linebeck having a bit of a monsterfucker streak and having a bit of a thing for like. being tied up. as for literal squids he kinda just likes them as food and to dissect and learn about

like i think 'rabid squid' is more like linebeck just tossing out some derogatory shorthand to explain how he thinks of jolene as some fucking. violent annoyance he has to deal with that he doesn't fully understand

tbh i see the comparison but imo it comes down to a difference in characters and interactions and histories, there is the rabid squid thing (and i think in the manga too theres a vague parallel drawn ig) but im not. sure. what there is there just beyond. linebeck talks about sea creatures and wants to get the fuck away from jolene

i'm not entirely certain what you've been thinking about with that comparison, but i haven't been thinking much about it and it's kinda. eh ig???? its something

[tetsunabouquet]

I hate this thread for the lack of comprehension. You all literally recognize that wanting to help people who don't want your help is something selfish yet you don't see this as a flaw in yourself but rather that the other people needs to accept something. No. An example I'll never forget is this girl I tried to befriend. One time she saw me being a complete mess because of my mom's BPD and she offered to be there for me. I made it clear I solely wanted a shoulder to cry onto and no help, because some random girl with no psychological degree will only make things worse if she actually tried to approach my mom. Which is exactly what happened, she ended up trying to force an intervention onto us as a family and my mom ended up getting triggered exactly as I predicted. My mom even ended up hitting me that time. Wanna know what happened when I got upset with the girl for causing the situation? She dared to call me a nightmare and started playing the victim like I didn't just got abused as a consequence of her trying to help. She then ghosted me and a mutual of ours also ghosted me when I tried to say, "Stop acting like a victim when you were the one who refused to listen to what I wanted and what I said was only going to make things worse. I'm not a charity case, I am a person." What she did wasn't something I considered kind and leaving me to deal with the aftermath of her intervention all alone was downright an asshole move. I don't care if she suddenly felt unwanted, because she sure as hell didn't cared about what my wants or needs actually were. She just wanted to feel like the superhero so she betrayed my trust when I already told her I have trust issues, growing up with a mom like mine, an absent dad and having grown up in the 'ghetto'. That latter aspect also brings me to how this logic only works for you who grow up in safe, picket-fence neighborhoods. Most of the people who are asking for help in the areas I grew up in, are criminals trying to trick you like the shady neighbor that wants to hide their weed plants in your home. Helping people like that can literally be the difference between getting arrested and a criminal record for yourself, or not. I've seen corpses, I know people that I am certain of are murderers because of the criminal activities they engaged in. But go ahead and say the mentality that kept me alive is something flawed, and not your own selfish need to be someone's hero that would get you killed if you were actually put in a situation of survival.

Nothing I’ve read has changed me more than “you do people a favor by accepting their help” like I repeat this constantly to so many people because it’s true!!! People like to feel useful, they like to feel kind, they like to feel like they have an ability to impact people’s lives so just let them!! Not everything is a thing to be owed back — accept people’s kindness without making a competition out of it

[apatheticsunday]

Henchmen for Hire

AKA "Danny is employed as one of the Rogue's henchmen and he's doing so well at being discrete, none of the Bats even know he's committing crime! (They absolutely know.)" prompt idea!!

Y'know what would make this funnier?? Is if Selina Kyle, Catwoman and hoarder of strays, immediately Work Mom'd this kid.

Imagine Danny gets dumped into Gotham by himself. Except there's, like, no ectoplasm - not nearly enough to sustain his Ghost. So, his Ghost form slowly peters out and he's left penniless and powerless on the streets of Gotham. Obviously, the next step would be to find money. But how?? He can't go invisible, intangible, or Full Ghost to help him out here. And there aren't a lot of stand-up places that hire kids younger than 13, so ultimately he's forced to apply for henchmen positions. He doesn't actually find Catwoman's ad. No, she hears through the grapevine that this actual child is applying to be a drug runner for the Penguin or - oh, shit, the Joker??

Absolutely not. Selina is no saint, but she's not going to let another kid be beaten to death by the Joker. Maybe she talks to Harley and finds out where the kid's going, or maybe she just puts in an ad and hires him on the spot. To be honest, she doesn't really expect to particularly like the kid - she'll have him pick up her coffee or something, pay him at the end of the day (standard henchmen pay periods since it's likely they won't live through the end of the week), and clear her conscience.

Except Danny is a little shit.

Danny, for his part, doesn't necessarily want to be a henchman but he figured it'd be more than getting some lady's coffee, right? He imagined an evil man twirling his extra long mustache and smoking a cigar, or mobsters hunched over a gambling table grunting about... playing cards or something, he doesn't know. Instead Danny's told to pick up Catwoman's dry-cleaning. It's almost an insult when he knows she's planning a heist that includes stealing several very expensive items from a museum during an evening showing. Without him, her only henchman!! (So what if he snooped in her office? It's not like it's ghost-proof; she should've expected Bad Behavior from the Very Bad Criminal in her house.)

Selina finds out very quickly that Danny is akin to a rambunctious kitten chewing through her phone charger cable and clawing at her favorite muslin blanket (the one Bruce gifted her from one of their dates). And she's so exasperated that she agrees he can be involved. But only as a distraction and he's told that he needs to scram once the police come because she's not bailing him out of juvie if he gets caught. (She wouldn't, but she could make Bruce do it. Her lover would take one look at Danny's watery doe eyes and cave like he's already experiencing Empty Nest Syndrome.)

So, Catwoman and her littlest henchman plan to rob the Gotham Museum. She buys him a cat-themed facemask (in case things get sticky and he needs a quick anonymous getaway) like ones from Party City, it has little ears poking out from the top and it's adorable. And then it's go time.

Danny's role is to distract the crowd by pretending to be a lost kid and distract Batman if he shows up. Selina will take care of the rest - disarming the alarms, timing the museum workers' shifts, bribing the West Entry security guard, frame-freezing the surveillance cameras, smuggling in the forgery and smuggling out the original, and - well. It'll be nice not to deal with the Big Bat if he shows up, but Selina is used to doing this on her own.

She should've expected that Danny doesn't do what's expected.

Because Danny does his part as the crying, screaming child whose mother is lost amongst the chaos once the museum's power shuts off. He distracts the guards easily. Selina hides away the art, replaces the forgery on the wall, and goes to find her little stray. And Danny is clinging hysterically to The Batman, refusing to be pried off by security guards and museum workers. He's straight up sobbing. Talking about how he loves Batman and Robin, his family is dead, he wants to be Robin, did you know you should be able to see Ursa Major from Gotham but you can't because of the smog, do you think Poison Ivy can just make a lot of trees to unpolluted the air, Nightwing is his favorite superhero, do you think he'll sign an autograph-.

It's astounding how fast that kid can speak while also smearing green snot onto Batman's cape. Danny proves himself to be even more unexpected when he goes off-script, eyeing her and screaming, "Mom!" And Batman's eyes catch hers. Shit. How can she explain a tiny child calling her mother in front of her lover? That'll be an awkward conversation.

Catwoman doesn't take Danny to outings after that. Instead, she has Harley and Ivy take turns "babysitting" (i.e., using Danny as Batfam distractions) while she's at work, kind of like having the fun aunts take you shopping. Danny can do whatever he wants!! With the exception that he needs to be wearing his cat-mask at all times, to properly conceal his identity (neither woman knows he'd already thrown himself at Batman without his mask).

So, while Ivy is destroying a toxic power plant, Danny is stealing Nightwing's escrima sticks, clinging to him, "accidentally" tripping him, doing the Koala-leg thing. He goes all out when Nightwing actually does trip on him - he shrieks that he broke his arm, which forces the vigilante to pay attention to him. Sobs, clings harder, and endures the trip to the hospital on the back of Nightwing's motorcycle with a shit-eating grin.

Harley is beating the hell out of some of Joker's gang. Red Robin is doing surveillance and coordinating with GCPD so they can get the whole circus to Arkham. Except Danny is calling out where Red Robin is hiding with the glittery pink microphone that Harley bought him (originally to sing Doja Cat and Chappell Roan in her car). Joker gang's priority will always be the Batfam because of Joker's obsession with Batman and Danny uses the distraction so Harley can get a couple good swings of her bat in. He cackles maniacally when he hears a muffled, "C'mon, kid!!" from Red Robin.

And the Batkids are just like, Jesus, this kid is literally a nightmare. But they can't do anything! Are they going do arrest a kid? No. Are they going to arrest Batman's lover? No! So, they're stuck dealing with this.... absolute gremlin of a child!!

Danny, of course, is very pleased. The Bats have no idea who he is because of his little cat-mask, he's getting paid literally several grand per week, and Selina - who he's been living with ever since she realized he was homeless - even got him goldfish!

(Bruce is in his office, eyes crinkling in that iconic Dad-Smile, scrolling through candid photos Selina snuck of Danny's chocolate-smeared face while the kid was passed out on her couch. There's a fake ID under the name of Danny Fenton and several pages of foraged school records in a pile on his desk. Bruce eyes his desk drawer where several emergency adoption papers are tucked away.)

[alpha-mag-media]

Elderly man, 70s, beaten and robbed by thugs in his home as Gardai urge witnesses to come forward | In Trend Today

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[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"Men Who Beat, Robbed Woman Get Prison and Lashes," Border Cities Star. August 26, 1933. Page 11. ---- 2 Sentenced At London ---- Took $1,420 From Home and Escaped In Taxicab ---- 3 Years, 8 Strokes ---- Money Went for Good Time Among White Lights of Montreal ------ LONDON, Ont., August 26. - John F. Nevare, 30, of 5 Webb street, and Joseph Kazobowski, 24, of 88 Mamelon street, were sentenced to three years and eight strokes of the lash in Kingston penitentiary by Deputy Magistrate W. B. Henderson, K.C., in police court today, for brutally beating Mrs. Alex Tichonchuk, 31, of 6 Webb street, on June 5, and stealing the family's life savings of $1,420.

ARRESTED IN MONTREAL THE men were arrested recently in Montreal after spending all but $400 of their loot in "wine, women and song." They pleaded guilty to "rob-bery with violence," charges, a few days ago.

Nevare and Kozobowaki escaped from the Tichonchuk house before the woman's screams attracted neighbors.

Racing to a nearby store, they phoned for a taxi, and soon were speeding to the border. The trail was lost in East Windsor, and wasn't picked up again until Quebec provincial police became suspicious of the pair's wild parties in the white light districts of Montreal.

Mrs. Tichonchuk was alone when the two men entered her home. They are well-known in the Polish community in London. Mr. Tichonchuk was working in a local factory, and the couple's young u son was attending school.

BEAT VICTIM When their victim refused to tell where the family's money was hidden, the intruders threw her to the floor and after beating her with their fists, bound her with rope and pushed other down the cellar stairs.

The little home was ransacked, and the money was found in a clothes hamper in a bedroom. Mr. Tichonchuk had drawn it from a bank a few days before that, intending to pay some bills and to use the remainder to put a down payment on a farm.

The 31-year-old mother was badly bruised and scratched in the brutal assault, and spent three days in Victoria Hospital. [AL: Both men had no previous criminal records. They were both born in Poland, in 'Plinks' and 'Lysiatech' - though they were identified as Russians in early press coverage (likely because they were born in Congress or Russian Poland before the First World War.) Nevare was convict #3145 and worked in the prison barber shop. Kazabowski was #3146 and worked in the prison quarry. Neither were reported much for infractions of the rules. Both men were released November 1935, though Kazobowski, not being naturalized, was deported to Poland.]

[ur-mag]

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[sinfulteeth]

No Grave Can Hold My Body Down / I'll Crawl Home To Her

Pairing | Remmick x Reader

Summary | He weaved in and out of your life like he was some stray animal, dragging gore and viscera not far behind. Here he was at your doorstep once again, a mess of blood and dirt for you to piece back together.

Word Count | 3.5k Warnings | Fluff, Non sexual nudity, Brief mentions of blood and non fatal injury, Remmick is VERY creature coded (growling, purring, etc), Remmick does not know how to emotion, Mention of medical equipment and bandages, Probably inaccurate use of said medical suppies A/N | This is my VERY first fic in several years and I'm very excited to get it out there. A big thanks is needed for the entire Remmick discord for bringing me into a community that inspires me to create once again. The biggest thanks to @bloodandbutts for being the best beta reader I could ask for and @flowersforjude for all the help with the heading and overall tumblr stuff. I couldn't have done any of this without you both <3

Now Playing: Work Song - Hozier

You were fixing yourself a small dinner in your quaint kitchen, the dim light of your oil lamp casting a warm glow throughout the room. The only thing breaking the focus of your quiet humming was several sharp knocks at your front door- knocks, that practically shook the foundation of your home, knocks that if you had neighbors, they’d probably think you were being robbed. With a sigh and a playful shake of your head, you set down the knife you had been using to cut up some scraps of meat. The metal gets placed onto your wooden cutting board with a dull thud.

You didn't even have to turn, you knew exactly who would be at the other side of the threshold. What you two had was just supposed to be a fling, one night of guiltless passion only for you to return as nameless strangers as soon as dawn broke. You stopped wondering why that man continued coming back; desperately pounding on your door as if he were a loose animal looking for a meal.

Reaching underneath your kitchen sink, you gather a small, but extensive, first aid kit filled to the brim with alcohol and gauze. Maybe the reason he kept coming back to you was because you didn’t mind the stench of viscera that clouded him. While you were no nurse, your mama did her part and volunteered during the Great War to care for injured soldiers, so you didn't blink twice at some cuts and blood every now and again. Knowing the drill, you set your kit down on the dining room table as you passed it- the pounding continued mercilessly.

The air was thick with the summer heat as you strolled to the door with no real sense of urgency. It was simple, if it was dire enough for him to be in any real danger he’d be shrieking bloody murder- But all there was were the knocks of a broken man, coming to you to put together the pieces.

As you open the door, you’re taken aback by the sight in front of you. He'd come back to you beaten, bruised and bloody sure, but he’d never been in this bad of shape before. It silently broke a little part of you. There stood Remmick, the man who had awkwardly strolled into your life-and you secretly didn't want him to leave. Looking at him, you weren’t sure where his blood began and some undetermined sources ended, both fluids muddling into a dark red splatter as it practically dripped off of him. His eye was swollen almost entirely shut, unable to see the swirls of red with a hint of blue that you had grown accustomed to getting lost in. Littered all over him were small burns and cuts seeping with thick, red blood. You blinked twice, unsure if your vision was deceiving you because you could almost swear his flesh was smoking. He swayed unsteadily on his feet as he borderline white knuckled your doorframe to keep himself up, a playful little smile gracing his bruised face.

“Hey darlin..” He talked with a faux suaveness you could hear bubbling up from his throat that made your eyes roll. He should know there's no need to do that anymore. You know exactly what he is, you don't care.

He’s what mothers warn their children about, the reason livestock end up butchered in the middle of the night, why parents tell their young to not play after the sun goes down, but not to you. To you he was a ravenous dog who doesn't know why he bites. He had no reason to fight with you anymore, you had shown a rare gentleness to a beast like him and he didn't know how to handle it.

“You gon’ let me in, or are you just gon’ let me burn out here?” His sarcasm bordered on a whine.

You sigh with a little playful tilt in your tone, taking a couple steps back from the entryway with your arms outstretched, hands waving him in.

“Come on in.” You say with a casualness rivaling the state of the bleeding man on your porch, as though you hadn’t just invited some wolf in sheep's clothing into your home.

His face visibly changed when your lips uttered the words he longed to hear. He had seemingly dropped whatever facade he was pretending to have. His first couple steps past your baseboard were heavy, boots thudding against the wooden floor. The man resembled a doe taking its first shaky and wobbly steps as he released his grip on the frame. Evidently, that flimsy piece of wood was the only thing keeping him standing in front of you. His knees buckled under him as soon as he let go. He tumbled clumsily into your open arms, his legs giving up on trying to keep him upright.

The man's skin was hot to the touch as you embraced him, sweltering to the point that it didn't even hold a candle to the worst flush of a fever. He allows you drag him into the dining room and heave him onto a chair at the end of the table. Your arms wrap around his waist, unconsciously rubbing his back in soothing circles and placing a chaste kiss on the mole that graced his flushed cheek.

You promise that you’ll only leave him in that lone chair for a moment as you do a quick lap around your home, drawing in all of the curtains to protect Remmick from the setting sun's cruel rays. As you carry your oil lamp over to the seated man, its light bathes him in a warm glow that borders on heavenly. He looked similar to an angel that had plummeted from Heaven and was broken by the sins of man.

The smell of antiseptic wafts through the air as you open a small bottle of alcohol. Your gentle fingers run through the hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, quietly shushing any little protests escaping from the man's mouth as you brush the strands back with a small smile. His one open eye scans down your face as he takes in every minute expression. He tracked your movement like you were a threat to him, his gaze darting rapidly between your hands up to the furrowedness of your brows as you tried to make the clean up quick. The gentleness in your grip rivaled everything he had known. Since he was young, he had known nothing except the brutality and violence that clung to every fiber of his being like it was woven into the strands of his DNA. But here? There was a foreign care put into every little touch- your warmth seeping into his skin as you cradled his face with a kind hand. You touched him as if he were made of porcelain, like he was something so beautiful that it deserved such a delicate hand.

With one hand keeping his chin still, your thumb absentmindedly stroked his cheek while the other hand dug through your box of medical supplies until you found exactly what you were looking for. The spooled gauze sprang to life as you dipped a small section into the awaiting alcohol, the fabric sagging under its sudden weight change. You take the soaked bandage and steady it in between your middle and forefinger. Clear liquid drips down into your hold like a river, burning the little cuts you didn't even know you had along the way.

The house around you settles into a strange, domestic silence - the kind of stillness that it wasn’t used to. You could hear the dripping of the faucet, the creaking of the old wood around you both, the shallow breaths quietly leaving Remmick’s lips. When you are by yourself, the silence originates from loneliness. There's no need to talk to someone that isn't there- the air felt heavier then, weighed down by things that could not be shared. Now, it was comfortable. There was an unspoken, peaceful quiet that came from the two of you. The only things filling the emptiness were the quiet hushes and apologies you whispered as you pressed the alcohol-soaked fabric into his cut skin, your lips pursed in focus.

As you dab his blood soaked skin, you feel him begin to try to pull away with a low, almost imperceptible growl. Your fingers squeeze into his cheeks to keep him still, shooting him with a glare as his lips pout from your grasp. It made you chuckle every time you had to do this. A creature as bonechilling as Remmick, something that could end your life in a heartbeat if he really wanted to, couldn’t handle the sting of a little alcohol. He would try to turn and squirm away in his seat like a child with a scraped knee. It was endearing.

He was lucky that all of his injuries were superficial, they all grazed his skin just enough to split open and reveal the dripping illusion of life. You did not feel like listening to his whines as you mended his skin as if he were a beloved, old quilt that was worn with age. Cleaning up the last of the blood on his face, the man practically melted into putty through your fingertips.

“I truly don’t know how you manage to get so filthy, Rem” A small smile plays at the corners of your mouth as you comb through the man's hair, his eyes closed in contentment. For once in his long life, he was more than fine not running his mouth and instead basking in the homely silence you two created. The only thing rippling through the waves of silence was your gentle, honey coated voice. It was like music to his ears.

You pat his cheek as you stand from your seat, brushing your hands on the dirty apron you wore. As your warm touch left his face, you could almost swear you felt him chase after it.

“We can't have you stayin�� in those clothes, I don’t need you draggin’ blood all through my house” The tone you scold him with edges on teasing, as if he were a dog tracking mud in from outside.

“You can stay here for the night, gotta get cleaned up first though.” You accentuate your words with a kiss against his temple as you stand above him, his skin much less warm from when you first dragged him in.

“I got some stuff you can change into, let me get the washtub in here, alright?” The silence hung heavy in the air, deafening. What you didn't tell him was that you got those clothes in town just for him. You kept a drawer of men's clothes as if this were home for him. No matter where he went, he always came crawling back for you to pick up the pieces with a loving hand. Almost imperceivably, a quiet hum in agreement escaped his lips. His hand grabbed yours quickly as you began to walk away, keeping you in that spot for a moment.

The man’s head lifts to look at you, his fingers still laced with yours. A foreign grin graces his features as he takes in the glow from your face, borderline angelic. With a deep sigh and roll of his shoulders, he gives your hand a light squeeze before releasing it.

“Don’ take too long now darlin’. May pass out from shock in ‘ere.” At his words, you roll your eyes, putting some water on the stove to boil before running outside to lug in the steel bath.

Emptying the last of the warm water in the basin, you grab Remmick up by his forearms. Your eyes look at him through your lash line as your hands hover over his bloodied shirt collar, silently asking the man for permission. Your roles for once were being reversed. After an uncharacteristically shy nod, your fingers work to undo the buttons running down his shirt. This was unusual for him. Here he was being stripped down without an ounce of sexuality swirling in the air. He was letting someone else tend to his injuries. Here, someone else cared for him and it felt good. Leaving him bare, you guide him down into the tub, watching as you see his shoulders relax at the comforting warmth of the water.

Pulling a chair up next to him, you cup water into your hands and allow it to run through his scalp to cascade down his shoulders. Your nails rake through Remmick’s hair as you work the soap into the blood sticking to the strands. Looking down at the man, it made you chuckle a bit seeing him crammed into the tub. He wasn't the tallest, sure, but something about a man who was all blood and teeth with his knees up to his chest as you washed his hair made you smile to yourself.

The water dripped down his back pink, taking all of the burdens of the night with it. You swear you could almost hear him purring as you shielded his eyes with your hand and rinsed the soap from his hair. With a rag in hand you begin to run it over his blood-soaked arms, breaking the silence with almost hesitant breath as your eyes tunnel into his flesh-refusing to meet his eyeline.

“Y’know.. you dont gotta keep this up all, this leaving for a month and then coming back half dead.” You say cautiously, a hair above a whisper.

“You’re welcome to stay here, we can figure some things out. I hate you bein’ gone so long ‘n leavin’ without a word, it makes me worry” You confess, rubbing gentle circles into his flesh as you wash his sins away.

There's a beat of silence as your words hang in the air. It is probably the longest few seconds of your life. Finally, Remmick let out a subtle, shaky breath, his hand coming up and stopping yours from doing death spirals in his arm.

“Don’ want you gettin caught up ‘n all this stuff baby.” He uttered in a way that seemed almost caring.

“I do mean shit darlin’. What I do when I leave..it’s brutal and it’s bloody. It's what townsfolk create stories about ‘n tell their grandkids. Ion need you gettin’ caught in the middle of all that” He speaks with a finality that heats the blood in your veins.

“ ‘n I don't need you makin’ decisions for me” You combat, surprising the man who sits beneath you.

“You think I don’t know what you are? What you do? I ain’t stupid Rem. I don’t care about all that shit!” You take a deep breath in, you didn’t even notice your hand shaking in his grasp. You raise your eyes to meet with his and you’re shocked to see what's there. There he sat, his surprised eyes rivaling saucers in their width. You could finally see the glimmering red that danced in his iris’, and they were looking you up and down, like if he wasn’t holding onto you he wouldn’t have believed you were in front of him.

“I ain’t some naive kid, Remmick. I wait up every night prayin’ you'll come back to me safe. Just stay here with me and I swear to you you’ll always have a place to call home” You didn’t mean for that last sentence to sound so desperate, but it was true.

The constant worrying, it created a pool of nausea and bile that would creep up your throat the more you sat at your dining table late at night wondering if it was going to be the last time you saw him alive. You just couldn’t stomach it anymore. You didn’t even realize hot tears were falling down your cheeks until the man's wet hand came up and brushed them away, holding your face. Your chest shook as you took in a deep breath, the action would’ve been endearing if his hand wasn’t dripping with water.

It took several moments for him to break the heavy silence. You can almost feel him thinking, how to react to your pleas and your confession. He still hadn’t let go of your face, diving deep into your eyes as if they could tell him the truth.

“Now I ain’t some normal man darlin.. ‘m no Saint. ‘M some creature o’ the night you invited in like a fool,” He started and you hung onto every word like a prayer.

“But if ya serious, we could try this. It surely ain’t a bad thing, stayin’ with a site to sore eyes like yourself too” He said with a smile that actually seemed sincere. It was the first time you saw it go all the way up to his eyes.

You couldn’t help what came next. As soon as those words left his mouth, you captured his lips with yours, pouring every pent up emotion you had into this kiss. He was momentarily stunned in shock before moving his lips in sync with yours. He tasted like blood and brandy. The home seemed to come to life around you both, the air charged with the mutual confession and broken tension. Leaning over him, you tilted his head up to you as you grin into the kiss, fingers brushing his soaked hair back.

After a few moments, you make him separate to catch your breath, leaning your forehead onto his with a little giggle. You’re pretty sure he forgets that unlike him, you do need to actually breathe. You’ve never seen him smile like he is now, a love drunk little grin baring all of those sharp teeth that you’ve now grown accustomed to. Cradling his head in your grasp, you give his temple one last little kiss before you stand up, grabbing a towel behind you. You feel his eyes track you once again, but this time it feels different. Instead of the usual wariness, tracking you like you’ll hurt him, it's out of adoration.

With the towel in your hands, you reach down and ruffle Remmicks hair with the cloth, earning you a confused chuckle and an eyebrow raise from the man.

“I think it's time to get you outta here Rem” You say playfully, drying his hair off.

“Don’ need you gettin’ sick on me in all that cold water” You see him roll his eyes at your comment as you grab his forearms to help him up. He didn't even know if he could get sick and he certainly wouldn’t have minded if you were the person taking care of him.

You wrap the warm fabric around his waist before guiding him into your bedroom. While small, it was certainly the most at home Remmick has felt in something close to a millennium. He sits on your bed as you dig through your drawers, the plushness definitely beats the dirt ditches he had grown used to sleeping in. Everything in your home seemed buzzing with life, with love that he seemed undeserving of.

Turning around, you present him with a simple linen shirt and pants which seem just a little too long, but nothing a simple hem job couldn't fix.

“Arms up” You commanded and for some reason, he listened.

He's never had anyone fuss over him, not since he was a child and time wasn't worth keeping track of. Slipping the shirt over him, you turn your back to give him some privacy as he pulls on trousers and undergarments. They didn’t fit too poorly, comfortable enough to sleep in for sure.

As he watches you get changed into your own night clothes, a warm feeling blooms into his chest. The bliss of domesticity that he had missed out on, it was finally here for him. It was finally his turn. He is snapped out of his thoughts as you shut the curtains in your room, turning down the oil lamp until the room is plunged into a comfortable dim light.

You lift the covers for him to slide into, its warmth cocooning his cold body comfortably. Climbing in behind him, you lay down next to him and casually wrap an arm around his waist and lay your head on his shoulder. As if you were scared to break the peaceful quiet that surrounded you both, you place a kiss on his cheek as you whisper.

“We’ll run into town and get you some proper clothes tomorrow”

Tomorrow. He liked the sound of that as it left your lips. The promise that anything that happened tonight wouldn’t be forgotten and he’d be cast out of heaven like Lucifer's great fall. It brought that warm feeling back in waves throughout his body.

Before sleep claimed you both, Remmick wondered if tomorrow night would be the first night of many that he could walk through your welcoming doors without an invitation. He surely hoped so.

© sinfulteeth 2025, dividers by @uzmacchiato